


spitfire

by threebears



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threebears/pseuds/threebears
Summary: Areth Tabris never held out hope that her life would amount to anything more than a series of petty thefts and enormous bruises. While she wasn't wrong, she was admittedly a bit short-sighted.
Relationships: Leliana/Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 11





	1. on endings (areth)

**Author's Note:**

> Boy oh boy guess who got EA Play and downloaded the entire Dragon Age series to replay for the 9th or 10th time and has really needed an outlet during quarantine and dragged their feet about doing this for 8 months and has finally caved? Couldn't be me!
> 
> This is a heavily edited and updated version of the first DA fanfic originally posted elsewhere. I read through it recently and decided my attachment to my Warden and the DA:O companions was worth revisiting and revising what I really didn't like about that first attempt. Maybe this time I'll actually finish it! Maybe! I'm going to settle on maybe!
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, if you decide to! Comments and feedback are deeply cherished! Cheers to everyone and I hope you're all staying safe and well out there.

The first punch barely made her blink.

The second only made her angry.

The third sent her sprawling back onto the floor with a splintered nose, lips wet and hot with her own blood.

Areth Tabris realized, with no small amount of disquiet, that she had been thoroughly walloped by a rather paunchy guard who didn't even give her the courtesy of drawing his weapon. Her mother must have been rolling in her grave, if not climbing out of it to give her a swift clip on the ears for allowing such an insult. Snorting the blood from her nose, she heard it spatter against the cobblestones beneath her. She scrambled to her feet, hand flying to the recently-looted dagger at her hip.

"I got him, cousin." chimed a voice a few paces behind her. Areth stumbled as she realized she was a bit more unsteady than she thought. She looked around haplessly, only to find the guard spread-eagle on the ground, crossbow bolts sprouting from his neck and chest.

"Thanks, Soris." Areth mumbled, holding her palm to her nose. She bent down to wrench the bolts from the body, blood oozing thick and lazy from the punctures. She extended them to her cousin, who produced a dirty, fraying handkerchief in exchange.

“It looks broken.” Soris said, attempting to shake the viscera off the recovered bolts before giving up and shoving them into the quiver dangling from his belt.

Areth gingerly ran a finger along the bridge of her nose and winced as she pressed on a bump that certainly hadn’t been there before. Hissing out a sigh and wiping the filthy handkerchief under her nose, she jerked her head towards a door that presumably led to more winding hallways. With their luck, said halls were probably squirming with guards.

"Oh, it definitely is" Areth growled under her breath, silently treading towards the door and pushing it open, wincing at the whine loosed from the hinges. “Just one more thing to pay them back for, then.”

As they quietly slipped through the hallway, Areth couldn't help but shake the feeling that she and Soris were going to be too late. They'd made good time through Arl of Denerim's estate; especially given they had to slice their way through armored guards to get anywhere at all. But that pig, _that absolute pig_ , Vaughn seemed entirely too eager for her other cousin to remain unscathed this long.

Shianni would be fine. She _had_ to be fine. There wasn’t another option, as far as Areth was concerned.

A faint clink of armor around the corner snapped her to rigid attention. She gestured at Soris, and she heard him pad to a stop close behind her. Elves, on the whole, had hearing superior to any other race, and Areth prided herself on having even better hearing than most. Whether that had to do with the fact that her ears were large, even for an elf, or simply that she was constantly on edge was anyone’s guess. Whatever the reason, in the heavy quiet that fell upon the entire hallway, she could hear everything. She heard the soft creak of Soris's finger on the trigger of his crossbow. She heard the raucous laughter of guards in the mess hall, too drunk to pay any mind to the massacre going on under their noses. She heard the breath of the guard around the corner, whooshing in and out of his lungs with unsuspecting ease. He was drawing nearer, by the clop of his boots on the floor. Areth gritted her teeth, and she felt the coppery taste of the blood from her nose slithering over her lips.

He didn’t have time to register what happened to him. Her blade passed cleanly through his windpipe, and the breath that had come so freely to him earlier now whistled out of the slim hole in his neck. She managed to catch on to the front of his breastplate as he began to crumple, and with a little help from Soris, he was placed gently, relatively soundlessly, on the ground. Sparing a disdainful glance at the dying man, she looked up at her cousin.

"Makes up for my little mishap earlier, yeah?" She whispered, tapping softly on the tip of her crumpled nose. Soris smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"I guess it does."

Turning the corner, dagger drawn, Areth scanned the hall, wide eyes sweeping for any indication that they had been noticed. Finding nothing but a door a few meters away, she skirted along the wall as she made for it, Soris close behind.

For a sudden, strange moment, Areth felt a twinge of rueful pride in her cousin. Where she tended to have a knack for violence, Soris absolutely loathed it. But, thanks to him, more than a few shemlen had been inexpertly, but effectively, perforated with crossbow bolts. Although the entire situation was deeply, darkly, entirely fucked, Soris was keeping a remarkable handle on himself. Especially considering he was perhaps the most nervous and law-abiding elf in the Alienage. Desperate times, she supposed.

Stranger still, Areth remembered the first time she ever managed to steal anything. She had lifted an exotic fruit from one of the stalls in the Denerim market place with Shianni and Soris one late summer day. While she, already having a particular proclivity for trouble, grinned like a cat who had gotten into the cream the entire way home, Soris had sobbed pitifully, always a few steps behind her at all times. Shianni, on the other hand, paraded proudly beside her younger cousin, nudging Areth to cut off a slice for her.

The memory sent a pang of both fondness and sickening dread through the pit of her stomach, and Areth picked up the pace, trying to determine which door would lead to the end of _this_. She could envision Vaughn Kendells’ face in her mind, pasty and pockmarked, sneering at her. She predicted it would be getting slashed to ribbons in the near future, and the thought sent her heart skittering with anticipation. She'd finally have a reason to make the worst one of these smug shem squeal, and she would-

"I think I hear something." Soris's voice was hushed and urgent as he grabbed Areth's collar, effectively halting her. She stood stock still, the only movement the minute swivel and twitch of her ears as she strained to hear what Soris did. When she did, she felt her body flush cold with adrenaline, and ground her teeth in frustration that she hadn't heard it earlier. Guttural grunts and the creak of a bedframe were hard to mistake, nor were they subtle, and she could hear everything in maddening clarity. She seized up in horror.

"What is it?" Soris practically pleaded, gripping her arm. Areth felt her lips curl over her teeth, and the wave of fury that crashed over her made her head spin. She couldn't bring herself to answer Soris, and she tore off towards the door where the sounds were coming from.

"Areth, wait!" Soris hissed, trying to catch up with her. Areth was long past the point of no return, however. With a faltering, sweaty grip on the thick brass handle, she shoved the heavy door open. Lunging into the room, Areth sized up her prey. There were only two, piss drunk and unarmed. Easy pickings, she noted with a sneer that soon faltered into a snarl. The last man, Vaughn himself, was in the process of buttoning his trousers, red faced and breathing heavily. She heard whimpering, and forced herself to not turn her gaze toward Shianni until he was dealt with. Until she had _fixed this_. Her blade trembled in her palm.

"Couldn't wait your turn?" Vaughn drawled. "Had I known you were so eager to join our party, I would have brought you along with this one." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the bed.

Areth spat at his feet as she heard a crossbow bolt find flesh behind her. Then another. If Vaughn cared that his friends were dead, he gave no indication. 

The fact that none of Vaughn's henchmen had tried to attack them settled into a squirming weight in the pit of her stomach. He _knew_ they were coming, and he didn't want her to get hurt. That was his job.

She carefully controlled the niggling terror from creeping onto her face as she realized the rumors about him were true. There was no way this was the first time he’d done exactly this.

“Give me my cousin and we’ll forget any of this ever happened.” Areth said, willing herself to sound collected and firm. She had wanted, hatefully and more than anything, to make well sure this man died screaming. But now, hearing Shianni’s persistent, quiet sobs, she just wanted this to be done quickly. She needed them all to be gone from here.

Vaughn licked his lips, and the very motion sent a shiver down her spine. He strolled leisurely towards her, a bemused expression on his pointed features. Areth decided then that he was far more ratlike than piglike. 

"Forgive me, but you’re both covered in enough blood to fill a tub. I don’t believe you have any intention of letting me leave alive.” He said, having the audacity to sound almost bored. “If your treatment of my… compatriots is anything to go by.”

Areth’s heart hammered angry and hot in her throat as he continued to tread closer. She pointed her blade at him, the tip a bare inch from his chest. Soris’s crossbow creaked and clicked as he readied another shot behind her.

"You’re not still upset about the wedding, are you?" He asked with put-upon earnestness, seemingly indifferent to the weapons trained on him. “It was terribly droll of the Chantry to indulge you knife-ears for the afternoon, but I surely could not reasonably be asked to change _my_ plans for such farce.”

He spat the last word with such venom that Areth couldn’t help but wince. There would be no easy way out of this. She’d tried as much as she cared to.

“You’re going well out of your way to make sure you don’t make it out of here alive, shem.”

Vaughn made a speculative noise from the back of his throat.

"That’s no way to speak to your Arl." He said, his lips curling in a way that made Areth queasy. Before she could react, Vaughn backhanded her across the face with enough force to send her sprawling, wholly disregarding the dagger pointed at his bare chest and grazing himself against the blade, drawing blood. Her head smacked the cobblestone floor with enough force to make her world go dark for a few seconds. Distantly, she thought she heard Soris fire his crossbow and the metallic clank of a bolt striking stone. She scrambled blindly for her dropped blade.

“Truly, you two would do well to be versed in proper etiquette. My father and I have been gracious enough to allow your fetid, squalorous _warren_ to exist within our city, and this is to be our repayment? He and I will have to discuss this further as soon as he returns from Ostagar.”

He punctuated the last word with a swift kick to her gut. Areth reflexively curled into a ball on the ground with a yelp. Laughing, Vaughn stepped over her writhing body toward Soris. Areth rolled over, vision swimming, but not so much that she missed the stiletto dagger Vaughn had drawn from Maker-knows-where. She stumbled to her feet, palming her dagger and lurching after the human unsteadily. Soris had dropped his crossbow, readying himself for a scrap he would have lost even in the fairest of circumstances. 

Areth would not let him get any farther. This would not be allowed. Not now, not again. Something fierce and malignant propelled her forward and kept her safe as she slashed at Vaughn’s back, his skin blossoming red where it was torn. With a bellow, he whirled to face her, stiletto raised and flashing cold in the firelight. His neck was entirely exposed. It was nothing to drive her dagger through it until it met the solid resistance of his spine. He dropped to his knees, eyes rolling back as he began to convulse. Areth bent down, jerking him closer by the handle of her blade.

“This is the only death you deserve, shem.” she hissed, unsure if he could even hear her. It didn’t matter. She twisted the dagger and he stiffened, then collapsed as she withdrew it from his neck, blood spouting from the wound and dashing loudly against the stone floor.

"Areth." Soris said, shakily. She turned to look at him with a relieved sigh. He shook his head, as if to signal that he was okay. He wasn’t, they weren’t. There was no time for it now, either way. He took a half step toward their cousin, then stopped. Areth gestured for him to stay put, rising to her feet. Shianni's eyes were fixed on Vaughn's corpse, though they were entirely hollowed out. Devoid of anything at all. Areth edged toward her cousin gingerly.

"Shianni..." she started quietly. The redheaded elf suddenly met her gaze. Areth felt her throat tighten, her tongue suddenly too large for her mouth. "I’m-" Her hands shook as she sheathed her dagger and knelt down in front of the bed. "I’m sorry. I’m here.”

Shianni shook her head slowly, like waking with a fever.

"Let's just go home." She whispered.

Areth noticed there were tears in her oldest cousin's eyes, that she just wouldn't let fall. Areth nodded and gestured to Soris. As they helped Shianni up from the bed, she mouthed to him _"Let's fucking go"_ and gently shifted their cousin into his arms. Soris inhaled sharply and lifted her, holding her close to his chest as quiet sobs continued to wrack her entire body.

"We're still on the ground floor." He murmured, looking towards a grimy, soot-stained window. "Looks relatively clear, but we're going to have to make a break for it anyway. Hopefully, nobody spots us."

She nodded and opened the window for him. He slipped out and quietly ran across the grounds, Shianni tucked into his chest, with relative ease, all things considered. Following her cousin, she paused as she straddled the window frame. Casting one last look around the room, she tried to summon any of the exaltation she believed would have come with this moment, and felt only cold, howling nothing. She bit back the scream festering in the back of her throat and ducked out of the window, following her cousins into the dusk.

* * *

Areth wished she could say it felt better to be home, after all that.

It did _not ._

The Alienage was silent as the grave when they had returned. Nobody wanted to be around when the guards inevitably showed up. Areth could hardly blame them, even if she wished they'd shown a bit more spine.

She was more than likely to have hers removed by nightfall. Perhaps literally. The guards at Fort Drakon had a reputation for enjoying more offbeat torture techniques.

She really _had_ tried to not think about it.

Upon arriving home, Areth and Soris had left Shianni in the care of Areth's father, Cyrion. He was more of a mess than Shianni was, always the crier of the family. There was a softness she had always appreciated about him, something she had not inherited. It made her sad to dwell on it, so she didn’t. 

They managed to wash away some of the bloodstains and change into new clothes. Then, with churning trepidation, they sought out the Alienage Elder, Valendrian. He had practically paced a rut in the ground around the Vhenadahl by the time they got there, and upon seeing them, promptly cuffed them both around the head.

"Why?!" Soris yelped, flinching more than usual at his typical rebuke. Valendrian instead leveled his eyes on Areth.

"You're lucky your mother isn't here, girl." He glowered. "I'm not sure you would have ever recovered from the thumping she would give you right now.”

Areth winced at the mention of her mother. It didn’t happen often. 

"Good enough that the guards are coming, since she couldn't make it."

Valendrian pointedly ignored that, watching the two young elves as he rocked back onto his heels. Then, tilting his head back, he stared at the branches of the Vhenadahl, the last rays of sun washing a pink hue over his weathered face.

"Maker preserve me. How did everything manage to go so wrong, so fast?" He finally sighed after a long silence. Areth chewed at her lip.

"Were you ever under the illusion that Soris and I getting married on the same day would end well?" She quipped, despite herself. Valendrian laughed wearily at that, and she earned a small smirk from Soris.

"I suppose I should have known better. Still, I’d..." Valendrian trailed off, shaking his head. His eyes were more tired than Areth had ever seen them. Suddenly, his mouth set into a hard line. "You both did the right thing today."

Areth was surprised at the admission. She opened her mouth to speak, but Valendrian held up a weathered hand to stop her.

"Insufferably foolish, incredibly naïve, quite possibly to the endangerment of us all. But right." He continued. "Whatever consequences arise from this, know that there was nothing else you rightfully could have done."

"Fuckin' rock and a hard place." Areth mumbled, not meeting Valendrian's eyes.

" _Language_ , Areth." The old elf scolded in a voice that sounded like home. She grumbled an apology.

"We'll go quietly when the guards come, Elder." Soris suddenly spoke up, staring ahead at nothing in particular. He looked hopeless and defeated, an entirely different man than the one she recognized as her cousin. Soris was never the bravest elf in the Alienage, but he wasn't one to take injustice lying down, either. It made Areth bristle. Shemlen and their inherent cruelty would not break both of her cousins in one day. 

"No." She growled, steeling herself. "They won't have the satisfaction of taking two of us. If they're going to take anyone, let it be me."

Soris looked equal parts stunned and indignant. "Areth, you _know_ I can’t let that happen."

Areth rolled her eyes. "Someone needs to stay with Shianni. You need to protect her, at least until she's feeling up to smashing bottles over people's heads again. Which, she will, one day, I hope. My father can't deal with that on his own. Not well, at least. Not as well as you could. And, last I recall, you still had a blushing bride waiting for you at home."

Her own betrothed, Nelaros, hadn't made it through the fighting. He was dead before Soris had even managed to free her. It saddened her deeply that his life had ended so brutally and thanklessly, but she couldn't bring herself to grieve over it. Not truly.

It wasn't that Nelaros wasn't a good man. He was very kind, and as good looking as they come, if not a little dull. In the Alienage, it was the ideal situation. Invariably, today's events had barred any and all possibility of it becoming reality. If she wasn't facing the noose, and even that was being optimistic, she would have welcomed the intervention. A less fatal and violent one, but a tiny, perhaps insane, part of her was relieved. She fiercely dreaded the quiet, uneventful life of growing old in the Alienage that had been laid ahead of her. She didn’t want to die. But the entropy of playing house for the rest of her life had always felt like a death sentence in its own right, to her. As things were, she just felt like throwing up onto her boots.

"Besides," She continued before Soris could interrupt. "can you imagine the looks on the guardsmen's faces when they see one elf girl taking responsibility for all of _that_? Maybe it'll all be worth it."

Soris laughed nervously. "The funny thing is, you probably could have, all on your own." He paused, carefully studying his cousin's face. "You know, the busted nose kind of makes you look tough."

Areth pulled the crossbow by the strap from Soris's shoulder and hefted it over hers. No point in being noble and taking the blame if Soris was still holding a murder weapon. She scoffed.

"If I make it past tonight, I'm sure I'll have all the other inmates cowering in fear."

Soris's face fell. "Don't say things like that. You're going to be just fine. We’ll figure something out." His fists clenched at his sides. "I don't know how, but this isn't the end for you, cousin. It _can't_ be."

Valendrian, who had remained silent, pinching his chin in the contemplative way that old men were wont to do, finally spoke up with a sigh.

"I have an idea. Don’t run off. By the _Maker_ , Areth, I’m quite serious.”

With that, he strode off across the square towards his own house, walking faster than Areth could ever remember. The bustle in his step was something she recalled fondly from her childhood, when everything felt much less immediately doomed.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Areth called after him, leaning back against the Vhenadahl.

Soris's brow furrowed. "I wonder what that’s about.”

Areth shrugged, trying to ward off the panicked shudders beginning to wrack her through sheer force of will. 

They lapsed into silence then. Her eyes swept around the Alienage, trying to absorb every detail she hadn't before, like the way the wind whistled as it passed between the squat shanties they lived in. Or the way spongy, brown moss grew from between the cobblestones in the square. Or the sweet smell of the late summer leaves on the Vhenadahl, as they trembled on their branches. Areth remembered scampering around this tree whenever she and her cousins were younger. She remembered the way the sun set, casting everything in an orange and pink hue, and their hovel looked stunning. At least for those few minutes every day. After sunset, she could remember hearing her mother's voice among all the other parents calling for their children to come home to dinner.

Areth rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger.

While the other kids were all eating their meager dinners with their families, Areth had something else to do first. She and her mother were always able to be found in the back alley behind their home, every evening, practicing with blades. Sparring. Learning disarming techniques. Areth's mother, Adaia, had been a proud and shrewd warrior. Areth could recall the sound of her raspy voice berating her when her form was a mess, and praising her when she actually managed a technique right. She could almost smell her mother's meticulously-oiled leather boots, and the earthy, sweaty scent of her hair. She never had the chance to thank her mother for what she taught her, and it had saved her life more than a few times. It worked, until it hadn’t. She wondered, for a moment, if the Chantry was right about the afterlife and the Maker’s bosom and all that. If they were, she’d get the chance soon enough.

Movement across the square caught her eye. Expecting it to be Valendrian returning with whatever plan he'd concocted, Areth's blood ran cold. The guard-captain of Denerim was crossing the courtyard with a full company of soldiers. Areth glanced meaningfully at Soris, hoping he fully understood that his sole responsibility now was to keep his mouth shut.

"What can I help you with tonight, gentlemen?" Areth asked lightly. The trick with the guards was to not let them know you were afraid. Otherwise, it was a pack of wolves cornering a frightened rabbit. The guard-captain stared at her in contempt.

"You know damn well what this is _about_ , elf." He snapped. "The Arl of Denerim's son is dead and half the estate’s guards are shredded to sodding ribbons or pincushions. I need names, and I need them _now_."

Areth allowed her brow to furrow. "How do you know who you're looking for is here? Or if they're an elf at all?"

The guard-captain sized her up, puffing his chest out. Areth pursed her lips.

"Several witnesses spotted an elf lass with a mangled nose making a break for the east wall, covered in blood. I'd say that's an apt description of you, though you've had the good sense to at least clean up most of the blood." He replied, letting his hand come to rest on the hilt of his blade. "Now, who helped you?"

Areth put her hands up. "Well, your sleuthing skills certainly are sharp, but not sharp enough. No accomplices."

The guard-captain threw a dubious glance at Soris. "You're sure about that, are you?"

Areth stepped forward, breaking his line of sight on her cousin. 

“I’m sure.”

He sniffed, gesturing to one of his men, who stepped forward with a set of manacles. "I do admire the courage you must possess to step forward and take responsibility for this, but I do not envy your fate."

Areth offered her wrists, taking deep breaths, trying to quell the rising panic that was finally threatening to bubble over. To no avail. Beads of sweat were forming at her temples, and her hands were growing clammy. There was no justice in this. She would die, without so much as an acknowledgement that what she had done was simply to stop her own victim's body count from rising. 

Areth wondered, briefly, if it was better for an elf to die having done _something_ than live having done nothing but roll over and accept their lot. It certainly didn't feel better. She thought it would feel better. She screwed her eyes shut and waited for the weight of the manacles to be placed upon her wrists.

It never came.

"A word, guard-captain." said an unfamiliar voice. Opening her eyes, Areth examined this sudden interloper. His features and clothes were unmistakably Rivani, and he wore two handsome swords strapped to his back. As he guided the guard-captain a few meters away to converse in hushed tones, Areth noticed how he towered over the plate-clad man, in a rather imposing way. Whatever he wanted, his stature alone was probably enough to get it for him. Areth looked behind her to Valendrian quizzically.

"An old friend." The Elder informed her. That didn't exactly set her at ease, but Areth nodded slowly anyway, turning her gaze back to the stranger.

"Absolutely not, do you have any idea the riot we'll have on our hands?!" The guard-captain's voice had wheedled to the pitch and volume of a man who had already been defeated, despite his protests. The tall man continued to speak over him, quiet, calm, and impassive. 

Suddenly, guard-captain turned on his heel and stalked away, gesturing angrily at his men to follow. Areth watched them go, not fully believing what she was seeing. She let out a low whistle.

“You must be pretty loaded to get away with that, right?” She asked, still numb over having to suddenly renegotiate her prior renegotiation of her own mortality.

The man regarded her with a raised brow. Before he could speak, Valendrian cleared his throat.

"Areth, this is Duncan, commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden."

She nodded, slowly. She’d heard of the Grey Wardens before. Not much, beyond the old stories her mother grew up telling her about the elven Warden Garahel, but they were only ever mentioned with reverence or disgust, which usually indicated power and importance, for better or worse.

"I see. Thanks, then." She said, putting a sound effort into seeming sincere. As desperately as she had been hoping she wouldn't be tortured and left for dead, she’d had damn well enough of humans for today. For a lifetime.

"My pleasure." Duncan said mildly, turning his gaze to Valendrian expectantly. Valendrian pursed his lips and motioned for Soris to leave. Areth nodded at her cousin, which was all he needed to hurry back to her house, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process to deliver the news. Areth folded her arms.

"Duncan came here for a reason, my child." Valendrian began. “He tells me a new Blight has started in the south. He’s in Denerim looking for recruits.”

Areth nodded, slowly. "Well that's good. Can't fight a Blight without a few Wardens, so I've been told." She turned to follow Soris. "I really should be getting home, now. You know how my father gets. Thanks again, Duncan.”

A hand on her elbow kept her firmly in place. She noted with some irritation that Duncan seemed mildly amused with her.

"He found a recruit, Areth." Valendrian said sternly. It was as if she was nine years old again. Areth nodded, her eyebrows raised.

"Good for him, then."

Duncan spoke up, his voice gentle and authoritative. "You show a lot of promise, Areth. A lot of the same promise I saw in your mother."

Areth's ears twitched at that. "You knew my mother?"

Valendrian sighed. "I'm sorry, Duncan. For all her aptitude with sharp objects, you sometimes have to speak slowly to this one."

Duncan chuckled. "I did. Adaia was a fine warrior. I see those talents did not go to waste." Setting his mouth into a thin line, he continued. "I am under the impression that you possess significant combat skill and apparently enough determination to dispatch a score of men single handedly."

Areth shrugged. "Soris helped plenty, and I-" She was cut off as Duncan raised his hand.

"Be that as it may, your talents would benefit the Wardens greatly in combating the Blight." He said, his tone hardening. Areth held her breath, gaze shifting back and forth between the two men watching her expectantly.

She sputtered as the realization dawned on her.

“No. No. I can’t. I can’t do that, I can’t leave _now_. Not after-”

"You really do not have much of a choice, Areth. I invoked the Right of Conscription when I was speaking with the guard-captain." Duncan's voice was unwavering. "The Wardens possess the right to enlist anyone they see fit in service, without exception. With a new Blight beginning in the south, recruits are valued now more than ever. The conscripted do not have a choice in the matter, I'm afraid."

Areth's ears pinned back to her head, involuntarily, instinctually. She looked to Valendrian, who nodded solemnly.

"It is the only option you have, my child. Your fate was sealed the moment your blade spilled human blood."

Suddenly, Areth was taken by a powerful urge to retch. Duncan's face was almost apologetic. For a long few moments, Areth was speechless. How fickle a thing was freedom, really? She dodged death in the Arl's estate and imprisonment at Fort Drakon and her inevitable execution, all in a day, only to end up in forced service to an organization she knew next to nothing about, beholden and dependent on a shemlen and a stranger.

Her eyes swept around the Alienage, its walls impassive and towering on all sides. Freedom may have always been an illusion, anyway. The thought only made the bile churn harder in her stomach. Finding her voice, she looked down at the familiar moss that pressed ever upward through the cobblestones, brushing her boot against it.

"When… are we leaving?"

Duncan's tone was immobile as the earth under her toes.

"Immediately."


	2. on joining an army (areth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> editing this is HARD! there was so MUCH about what i originally wrote into this that i'm NOT impressed with! this is very much going to end up being something entirely different than it was when it started, but that's growth, baby!!!
> 
> thanks so much for giving this a read! any and all feedback is always welcome!

Two whole weeks of travelling, and they were still on the road. 

Duncan had assured her they weren't very far from Ostagar, but he also said that three days ago. Areth wasn't accustomed to walking much distance at all, and her calves screamed in protest with every step she took. She hadn't even known Ferelden was big enough to walk through for two weeks. According to Duncan, it took a month and a half to make it across the entire country on foot. If that was true, she hoped the rest of the country wasn’t as miserably brown as what she’d seen so far.

Given Duncan was both her commander and her sole travelling companion, she tried her best to play nice with him. During their first night on the road, Areth had been sorely tempted to slit his throat while he slept and make a break for it, but it was an idle notion she had soon abandoned. Murdering the Arl of Denerim’s psychotic son to rescue her cousin was one thing. Murdering the Commander of the Grey during a Blight was another, entirely. And while there hadn’t been cause for him to draw his blades so far, Duncan carried himself in a way that suggested better folk than her had tried and failed in the past.

And, to be fair, Duncan wasn't the absolute _worst_ human she'd been around. He hadn't tried talking to her, beyond a few forced attempts early on, which she supposed was only polite. He never asked her to take on chores that he hadn’t demonstrated a willingness to do himself, which was unusual for a shemlen, in her experience. Most days in Denerim she couldn’t take more than a few steps out of the Alienage without falling ass over teakettle into a washerwoman barking orders at her, having mistaken Areth for one of her laborers. They never apologized after realizing their mistake, either. Just looked her up and down, grunted, and shooed her down the road, mumbling something about how all elves look the same under their breath. The bar was pathetically low, but at least Duncan had stepped over it with ease, so far.

She wrenched her neck to the side with a satisfying crack. Duncan kept his pace a few strides ahead of her. The weather had been in their favor. The sun was creeping down from the sky ever sooner each day, but summer’s warmth remained persistent, even in the far south. Still, fall would blow in, bone-chilling and hard, sooner rather than later, and Areth would have to see about finding a suitable coat. Now that there was some strange possibility that she might actually have some standing, maybe she’d be able to acquire one legally. She had left her very sorry, worn threadbare coat at home. Partially because she didn't want to be seen as yet another pitiable elf from the slums straight off the bat, and partially because Shianni had looked so heartbroken when she lifted it off the hook before she left that she dropped it back where it hung immediately. Areth chewed the inside of her cheek.

Of all the rushed goodbyes before she left with Duncan, Shianni’s was the hardest. She had just barely come to when Areth made it home to share the news and pack. Groggily, she clung to Areth, begging her to stay. However resilient Shianni was, Areth wasn't certain she would recover from what had happened, despite Soris's assurances that he wouldn't let anything else happen to her. She'd seen this happen enough times, living in the Alienage, and though most seemed to have entirely come back to themselves, there was always something different about their eyes. It was the look of something cornered. Shianni was volatile enough before, and she wasn’t entirely sure she would recognize her cousin when she saw her again. _If_ she saw her again.

Her heart heaved as she recalled Duncan's words as they left the Alienage.

The Grey Wardens would go where duty compels them. There was a chance that Denerim would not need them for quite some time.

Her father was no spring chicken. A very long while didn't seem like it would be possible for him, especially in the squalor of the Alienage. Since leaving, Areth caught herself praying, but never quite caught what for. Maybe just that things wouldn't end up quite so bad as they could. Just for the next few weeks, or months, or years, however long she wasn’t there to keep them safe. Not that she’d been able to make a difference, in the end. When it mattered. With a pinched sigh, she kicked a loose rock off the road into the waist-high grass rustling beside them.

"This place has got to be around here somewhere. We're going to fall off the world if we keep going."

Duncan slowed his pace, casting a glance over his shoulder.

"We'll be there well before nightfall." he said, temperate as ever.

Areth hefted her pack higher up her shoulders.

"A hot dinner waiting for us, I'd hope." she grumbled. Duncan smiled a little at that.

"It would be generous to call our rations _dinner_ , but it will be plenty hot." His pace slowed so that he was now in-step with Areth. "The cooks seem to have concocted the notion that bringing gruel to a boil somehow makes up for the fact that it's gruel."

Areth sniffed.

"It's probably still better than rat and turnip stem soup."

"Things in Denerim have gotten considerably worse for the elves since last I had occasion to be there.” Duncan said, sounding something approaching remorseful. “I had no idea.”

“Well it’s never been good, but…” she started, her teeth starting to itch. “When the Arl’s son came of age, he made a point to make it worse. The rest of the city followed suit.”

“Then you’ve done Denerim a great service.” Duncan replied. His frank endorsement of her capital crime was unexpected. Scoffing, her gaze fell to the ground before her, loose pebbles and caked mud.

“Until there’s another. There’s always another, I think.” she said, more to herself than to him. 

“Even so, we are only ever capable of confronting the enemy which stands most immediately before us. To obsess what lies beyond that is the root of madness.”

While Areth doubted that it could ever truly be that simple, at least where she was from, she supposed he wasn’t wrong, either. It was a sound enough strategy to end the Blight, at least. That was all that was supposed to matter to her, now.

After a few miles of tentatively companionable silence, she decided now was as good a time as any.

“Hey, Duncan.”

“Yes?”

"You said you knew my mother."

The corners of Duncan’s eyes creased ever so slightly. 

“Only briefly.” he said, uncorking his water skin and taking a sip. “But she left quite an impression.”

“Did you know her before you were a Warden, or-”

Duncan shook his head, holding the skin out to her. She accepted, and while it was lukewarm, it was welcome.

“I joined the order when I was still a few years younger than you, in Val Royeaux. Several years later, after King Maric invited the Wardens back to Ferelden, I was in Denerim.”

  
“On Warden business?”

  
  
“Actually, our order was largely quartered in Denerim at the Royal Palace for some years after our return.” he explained. “I had a rare afternoon free to dawdle about the market, one day. So dawdle I did. Suddenly, I hear quite the commotion from the other end of the square. It turned out to be your mother, accosted on all sides by common thugs. By the time I had drawn my blades to intervene, she had sliced the ear off one and had the tip of her dagger pointed at the… sensitive bits of another.”

Areth choked on her water, corking the flask and handing it back to Duncan. The man smiled fondly down the road as he tucked it back under his belt.

“I was a fair bit younger, then, and despite my new title of Warden-Commander in Ferelden, I couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed that I was denied my chance to play hero. Still, I managed to convince Adaia to allow me to meet her in the Alienage the next day.” he said. “It was my intention to ask her to join the order.”

Areth’s brow buckled in surprise.

“You wanted my mother for the Wardens?” she asked, incredulous. Duncan smiled again, warm. Maybe she was imagining it, but he seemed like he might be proud of himself for inciting such a reaction.

“I did. It should come as little surprise to you that my offer wasn’t accepted.” he sighed, crossing his arms. 

“Sure, yeah. But why not?” she pressed. Duncan’s step faltered, if only for a moment.

“Because of you.” he said, his voice softer than she thought it could be. “You were scarcely a month old, then. Cried the entire time I was there. Your poor father, he was beside himself. I believe he thought Adaia would jump at the chance to leave the Alienage, but my offer was soundly rejected.”

Areth’s mouth formed words, soundless and impotent. She didn’t entirely understand. Her mother wilted in the Alienage, and she had always carried that resentment around with her, sure as the daggers on her back. And as much as she knew that her mother loved her, she had come to suspect that she had become a totem of the life her mother had never intended to lead. Why she poured so much of herself into Areth, to keep her from falling into the same listless trap, to make her too dangerous to hold. 

“We kept in touch, here and there. I was… deeply sorry to hear of her passing.” Duncan continued, his gaze flinty hard, something almost sorrowful dancing in the depths. “Denerim is a hard, too often cruel place, but it is as good as any to find conscripts, perhaps because of that. I came to the Alienage to find you, though.”

“Me?”

Duncan hummed in affirmation.

“Adaia always made a point to note your progress, when she managed to write me back. I never knew her to be… generous, with praise, even when it came to those dearest to her.” he said. “I made the mistake of announcing my intentions to Valendrian. It was his idea to push forward the wedding date. I believe he thought he could replicate the circumstances that kept your mother there once again, with you.”

Areth felt hot, queasy anger flooding her gut replaced by withering sadness, just as quickly. She didn’t know that. Nobody told her that. If they’d waited, like they were supposed to, maybe none of this would have happened. Shianni would be fine, her father’s heart wouldn’t be at risk to simply give out with worry, Nelaros would be alive and handsome and perfectly dull in Highever. Or maybe something worse would have happened. 

“I see.” she said grimly. “Didn’t work out quite like he thought.”

Duncan’s lips pressed to a hard line. 

“I cannot say that I am happy that events transpired the way that they did. But I’m relieved that I came, regardless of Valendrian’s best efforts to keep me away.” 

“They’d have strung me up about a week ago, if it wasn’t for you. I don’t imagine I’d have gotten a trial. Not that it would have changed anything. Still, I…” Areth trailed off, tensing her jaw. “I owe you my life.”

She couldn’t bring herself to thank him for this. She knew she should. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the hovering fear that she was going to die, regardless. Differently, maybe with more dignity, but an early death all the same. 

Maybe this wasn’t even about her. Maybe this was only about her mother, and the least Duncan could do for her was give her daughter a better death than bleeding out in a gutter. Something he couldn’t save her from.

"You owe me nothing, Areth.” Duncan said, distant and certain. Areth suddenly felt cold, despite the blanketing late summer heat. 

His pace quickened.

“Come. We are nearly there.”

* * *

The crumbling fortress of Ostagar was a fossil left behind by the Tevinter Imperium, and it hung precariously, almost in defiance of nature or reason, from a sheer cliff overlooking the Korcari Wilds. The view wasn't stunning- the Wilds looked like somewhere Areth wanted to avoid at all costs, even from a distance. It was the sprawling scale of it all that amazed her. She could see miles in any direction with just a turn of her head. Denerim had to be at _least_ twice the size of the ruins, but with all the buildings looming overhead, each alley felt like an entire world within itself. But this, this was something entirely new. 

"It's… big." she remarked, unable to help her awe. Duncan nodded.

“The ancient magisters built it to ward off raids from Chasind Wilders.” he said, his eyes sweeping over the ancient fort. “For all their faults, they were _exceptional_ architects.”

Areth shifted from foot to foot.

"So what am I supposed to _do_ here?" she asked, cagey. Duncan looked ready to launch into what would probably be a rote recitation of her new duties and responsibilities, when a blonde man clapped him firmly on the shoulder from behind. Areth flinched. With all the new sights and sounds ahead of her, she hadn't been paying much mind to their immediate surroundings. She regarded the man warily. She had met the acquaintance of more humans in the past few weeks than she ever had in her life, and she wasn’t looking forward to that becoming the norm. 

He was handsome enough by shemlen standards, youthful and rugged. He had flowing golden hair that framed his face in a way that she supposed could be considered regal, but the laugh lines around his eyes made him look a bit too jolly than anyone with real station ought to look. His gilded armor probably cost a collective year’s worth of wages in the Alienage. She frowned.

"Duncan!" he cried. "You’ve returned! Where did you go this time?"

Duncan cleared his throat. "Denerim, your majesty."

Areth's eyebrows lifted. King Cailan. She felt an incredulous laugh threatening to tear from her throat, but she forced it down out of some vestigial regard for propriety.

"You should have told me, then! I left my lucky socks behind at the palace!" The king crowed, slapping Duncan's shoulder again. "The scouts told me you found another recruit, yes? I take it this is she?"

Duncan hastily shot Areth a loaded glance. He hadn’t anticipated a royal welcome.

"You need not concern yourself with an introduction, your majesty, you have enough to plan for, I'm certain."

Cailan blinked at Duncan haplessly. "Nonsense, Duncan. We'll be shedding blood together."

Areth stepped back as the king moved closer to her. He was practically leaning over her. She felt her slender ears pin back to her head for a moment.

"Hello, friend, might I know your name?" he inquired, halting his advance towards her. From the corner of her eye, Areth noticed Duncan watching her, his gaze severe.

"Areth, your highness." she said, dipping her head. Duncan's shoulders relaxed conspicuously. The king smiled down at her.

“And you’re from Denerim?” he asked.

“The Alienage.” 

Something like a grimace passed quickly over Cailan’s face.

“So a very different Denerim than I would recognize.” he said, softly, as if to himself. Areth crossed her arms. 

“That’s likely, your highness.”

Duncan tensed again.

“It has been my desire for some time to visit the Alienage.” The king said, not meeting Areth’s eyes. “My advisors were never… _keen_ on the idea. I imagine they had some anxiety about what I would find, there.”

Areth glanced at Duncan. He looked anxious. It was an unfamiliar contrast to his usual firm assuredness. 

“It would be in the Wardens’ best interest to ensure Areth is kept away from Arl Urien.” Duncan said, his gaze shifting toward the king cautiously. Cailan’s eyes widened.

“So the rumors are true, then?”

Areth stiffened, nearly taking a step back before catching herself. Duncan had been able to pull rank on the Denerim city guard, but she doubted that same trick would work on the king. Cailan’s hand drifted to his chin.

“Yes, your majesty.” Duncan said. Areth glanced behind her. There weren’t many soldiers on this side of the bridge, but there were enough to make an escape far from guaranteed, if the king gave the command.

Then, Cailan sighed and shrugged, his golden armor clanking with the motion.

“Then I suppose that means it’s quite possible that the rumors about Vaughn were true, too.” he said, suddenly serious in a way Areth doubted was frequent. He turned to regard her, his eyes apologetic. “I should apologize. I was no friend of the Arl’s son, but I knew him. Long enough to know he was an unrepentant and cruel ass.”

Areth let out the breath she was holding. Cailan threw his hands up, shaking his head.

“ _Maker_ , it’s like Loghain wants to keep me in a gilded cage. I can’t hope to rule well without knowing what’s going on in the very _city_ I live in!”

Duncan coughed. The king inhaled sharply, then shot a rueful smile at Areth.

“I can’t seem to stop apologizing, today.” He said gently. “I beg you to forgive my outburst. I have my abiding frustrations with the machinations of Fereldan nobility, but such is the nature of my role, I suppose.”

Areth studied him, for a moment. It was always hard to tell ages with shemlen, and the ludicrous armor was rather distracting, but he couldn’t have been much older than her. Despite herself, she felt a pang of sympathy. 

“You could always run away.” she said mildly. “I thought about it, myself, but Duncan’s got longer legs than me. He’s stronger, too. You look like you’d have a better go at it.”

Cailan was quiet for a beat, then his eyes crinkled with an earnest smile.

“That’s the most sensible solution I’ve heard thus far.” he chuckled. “Once we’ve finished business here, I ought to bring you to court.”

Duncan sighed, shaking his head, his lips curled ever so slightly. Cailan clapped his shoulder fondly.

“With our victory here, you’ll have more people signing up for the Wardens than you’ll be able to feed. _One_ recruit won’t cripple you, Duncan.” he said, tossing a wink toward Areth. “Or, that’s fine, be a miser. But you should know I’m wounded!”

“Something tells me you’ll recover, my king.” Duncan replied wryly. His face hardened again, then. “Now that I’ve returned, we should convene to review tomorrow’s strategy at your earliest convenience. The missives I received on the road were comprehensive, but-”

“Yes, Duncan. You’ll have your war table.” Cailan sighed, exasperated. “Though, if I’m being honest, I’m not sure this is even truly a Blight.”

Duncan's face darkened, but the king didn't seem to notice. Areth cocked an eyebrow.

“Duncan seems quite certain it is.” she said, studying the Warden. His eyes were on Cailan, looking not at all unlike Valendrian after one of her narrower scrapes with the city guard. It was the quiet disappointment of a man who believed he raised a child to _know_ better.

"The scouts report the number of darkspawn they've seen in the Wilds don't add up to a fraction of what our records suggest a Blight would amount to. And there’s nary an Archdemon to be found. I can’t imagine it’s easy to miss a blighted high dragon."

“The Archdemon could be well underground, your majesty.” Duncan rumbled. It seemed like a well-worn subject between the two men.

“And that’s why the Wardens are here!” Cailan replied cheerfully, apparently oblivious to Duncan’s frustration. 

The older man opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He nodded, polite and curt. 

“We will speak more of this later, highness.” he said briefly. It was obvious this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in front of Areth. That was fine by her, truly. She was content to let the shemlen squabble over strategy and appropriation of military might, so long as she was somewhere well out of earshot. 

A soldier approached them from the bridge, clattering noisily in his plate.

"Your majesty, Teyrn Loghain has requested an audience with you at once." he panted, bowing sloppily.

Cailan turned to Duncan and Areth, heaving a sigh. "It was only a matter of time, I suppose. Areth," the king intoned with a slight bow, "it has been my pleasure. Duncan, I will send word for you within the hour."

Duncan bowed briefly, shooting Areth an expectant look. She bowed, stiff and awkward. Cailan chucked warmly and followed the messenger back across the yawning chasm, toward camp. As soon as the king was out of earshot, Areth turned to Duncan.

"You think he’s wrong, then? About the Blight?”

Duncan's brow crinkled as he started toward the bridge, motioning for her to follow. "It would give me no small amount of relief if he was correct."

“So yes, then.” 

Duncan frowned. When he spoke again, his tone was measured.

"This is indeed a Blight. Wardens have certain abilities unique to those of our order. One of those abilities is sensing the presence of darkspawn. An archdemon is indeed at the heart of this invasion. You’ll see, soon enough." he said. His tone was resolute, but Areth did not miss the anxious set of his jaw. A knot settled low in her stomach.

“You don’t think we’re prepared.” she said, looking out over the expanse of the Wilds. In the far distance, thin pillars of smoke beyond counting rose from the trees. She hadn’t noticed. 

"It would be wise to go about finding that hot meal we were discussing previously.” Duncan said, pointedly ignoring her statement. It did little to settle her nerves. “You'll need strength for what is to come."

Duncan's strides were longer than usual. Areth noticed he was carrying himself taller, more authoritatively. 

"And then what?"

The Warden-Commander fished around in the pouch he kept at his hip. With a soft clinking, he withdrew a small handful of sovereigns that he motioned for Areth to take. Wide eyed, she accepted the gold and marveled at its weight. She'd never seen that much money at once, anywhere. Taking one between her teeth, she bit down.

"So you _are_ loaded." she said, smirking. Duncan shrugged.

"We set aside allowances for recruits without armor and weapons of their own, which has ended up being most of them, lately. Find the smithy and have him make you something that will fit you. Actually," Duncan pressed another sovereign into her palm, "offer him a little extra, since he's probably not too practiced with fitting armor to someone of your stature. Don't let him swindle you, though. He’s the type to try."

Areth snorted. 

“Anyone who’s ever lived in Denerim knows how to haggle as well as they know how to breathe.”

Duncan conceded with a nod. "Tomorrow morning, I want you to find a man named Alistair. He’s made a bit of a _reputation_ for himself around camp. I’m not sure where he’ll be, but ask around enough and I’m sure someone will be able to point you in the right direction.”

They arrived at the other side of the bridge. Duncan pointed to a large, billowing bonfire, encircled by crumbling pillars.

"When you find him, come and meet with me and the other recruits there."

“A reputation, huh?” Areth asked, scratching the tip of her ear. The cacophony of sounds from the camp might have been overwhelming, if she hadn’t been accustomed to the ever present screech of activity in Denerim. Duncan pursed his lips.

“Indeed.” he said dryly. “He has a certain aptitude for knowing exactly the wrong thing to say, in any given situation. In time, you’ll learn when to take him seriously.”

Areth raised her eyebrows. Duncan waved his hand, as if to clear away his statement.

“He won’t say anything untoward about you being an elf, if that is of any concern.” he said. “He simply has no awareness of when jocularity is unwelcome.”

She nodded, uncertain. In her experience, shemlen were entirely apt to make all manner of untoward comments about elves, whether they knew it or not. She looked around. The only elves she could see were scurrying about, clutching armor or bags of potatoes. Duncan followed her gaze.

“If anyone gives you any trouble, let me know.” he said, quietly. “It will be dealt with.”

Areth sucked a long breath in, squaring her shoulders and standing up as tall as she could muster. 

“I can take care of myself, Duncan.” she said, glancing back at him as she started on her way. “But… thank you, I suppose.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, Duncan almost looked proud of her. It was strange. She wondered who he was seeing, then. Was it her, or was it her mother? 

Areth supposed it didn’t matter. Not really. Not with the strange fog of nervous unease and sour fear that hung overhead, here. She was at war, now. Whether dead on a darkspawn blade or hanging from the gallows at Fort Drakon, death wasn’t proud. It only ever wanted. 

Her mother wouldn’t be proud of a noble death. She would have only ever been proud of survival. Areth decided that she rather agreed. 

Food in her belly and armor over her chest seemed the best place to start. With a parting nod at Duncan, she headed deeper into camp.


	3. on the first day at a new job (areth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't enjoy the original chapter 3 i had in this at all so i just made a new one! 
> 
> as always, thanks for reading! working on this is fully a labor of practicing my editing skills and cringing at what i thought was passable writing in 2014, so that anyone is reading/following this truly does mean the world to me.

Darkspawn were, to put it simply, terrifying.

Areth hadn’t spent much time considering what an army of the creatures would look like. The handful they encountered in the Korcari Wilds weren’t pretty to look at, to be sure, but their numbers were relatively few. But, sprinting madly through the deluge with Alistair over the bridge earlier, she had chanced a glance at the army beneath them. The forest teemed and writhed, thick knots of troops hurtling themselves from the treeline toward the king’s army. The sound of their blades passing cleanly through bellies and the crunch of skulls and legs shattered by mauls built into a hellish chorus, echoing ever upward from the valley. 

Alistair was a bigger idiot than she’d taken him for, for all the fuss he made about being sent to light the signal beacon. Areth would have happily hung back and scoured bedpans rather than be sent into the ceaseless meat grinder below.

Still, present circumstances weren’t much better. Duncan had assigned them to scale the heights of the Tower of Ishal, the bone-white spire that housed the flare they would ignite to signal Loghain’s army to rush in and flank the flood of darkspawn. It was supposed to be easy. It seemed as though nobody had considered that the foundations of such an old structure might have easily been tunnelled into. Funny, that.

Areth wrenched her dagger out of the genlock’s skull, letting the creature’s corpse fall to the stone with a wet thump. Alistair was doubled over, hands on his knees, panting from the exhaustion.

“I think that’s the last of them.” she said, contemplating the sticky, black blood smeared thick over her blades. “On this floor, at least.”

The other Warden heaved himself upright, wincing.

“What floor are we on? I lost count after three.” he asked. Areth shrugged.

“I wasn’t counting at all.”

Alistair gave an ironic smile at that, the white of his teeth standing in stark contrast to the gore that spattered his face. 

“Then it’ll just be a happy surprise when we get there, eh?”

The elf hummed irritably in response. The shemlen’s relentless cheer in the face of the absolute worst case scenario was entirely lost on her.

“It should be the next floor up, Wardens.” offered the soldier accompanying them. “Hopefully we’ve beaten back the worst of these beasts and there will be little resistance.”

“With our luck thus far, I’m not holding my breath. Unless you think that would help.” Alistair quipped. 

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” Areth muttered under her breath, heading toward a door that would hopefully reveal a flight of stairs. Or, better yet, a pulley. The spot on her thigh where she had taken an arrow from a hurlock was aching fiercely. They had been lucky that the other survivor from the tower was a mage with a knack for healing. Still, there was only so much he could do and her leg was getting stiff.

She leaned bodily into the door, swinging it open to reveal a winding spiral staircase littered with the bodies of soldiers. Some had been crushed beyond recognition as anything but lumps of meat, bones erupting at haphazard angles from their flesh. Areth’s heart hammered in her throat. She didn’t like the idea that what might have done this was probably up ahead of them. 

“Oh, Maker. That’s…” Alistair trailed off, appearing at her side. He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking more anxious than Areth had thought him capable of. “There’s probably an ogre up there. I can’t think of anything else that would have been able to do this.”

“An ogre?” she asked, leaning back against the doorframe, taking her weight off her weak leg for a moment. Alistair nodded, somber.

“I’ve never seen one, in the flesh. But you hear stories. They say ogres are what happen when a qunari is corrupted. I don’t know if it’s true, but they’re apparently  _ quite  _ big.” he said. “Maybe we should send a runner to ask for backup.”

Areth frowned. 

“I can’t imagine the darkspawn gave up on trying to take the tower.”

Alistair makes a face like he swallowed a frog.

“You’re probably right. I hope you aren’t. But that means we’re going to have to light the beacon in whatever time we get between taking out whatever did,” he gestures around the stairwell, “ _ this, _ and whatever is coming up after us.”

“Maker preserve us, they’ve got us pinned.” murmured the mage, joining them at the base of the stairs with the soldier close behind. 

“It’s a long walk up. Plenty of time for everyone to think of a plan, my good ser.” Alistair said, his tone failing to carry the hope his words suggested. Areth sighed, standing up straight and trying to guess if it would hold out. Probably not, but she’d gotten this far on it. She started up the steps, weaving around corpses and scattered limbs. 

She hadn’t known it then, but the night they’d arrived at camp would be the moment of peace she would know at Ostagar. After finding Alistair the next morning, Duncan sent them into the Wilds on a hunt for darkspawn blood. That part was easy enough; even with as few darkspawn as they ran into, they did have  _ plenty  _ of blood. It was the hunt for the treaties that had taken hours, leaving them wading through endless bogs and getting chased by wolves into the gnarled heart of the forest. Then there was that woman. She was devastatingly gorgeous, but feral and strange and not at all polite. Probably not at all uncommon among swamp witches, but she had helped them all the same. By the time they were back to camp, treaties in hand, night had well and truly fallen, strange noises and snapping branches nipping hot at their heels. 

Then there was the Joining. It had only happened a few hours prior, but those hours felt like weeks, now. She could scarcely remember any of it. Jory was run through by Duncan, and just as well. The man was a simpering coward. She had been right about Duncan’s skill with his blades, too. 

Daveth, though. That was a shame. She wouldn’t go as far as to say she liked him, but he reminded her of every other silver-tongued, chronically unlucky sod from Denerim. She hadn’t liked any of them, either, but they were always good for a scrap and a pint. 

After that, it had been her turn. As far as she could recall, she had brought the chalice to her lips and then woken up on the ground. She’d had worse nights out with Shianni and Alarith’s bathtub brew. But the fitful images of the Archdemon, that corrupted dragon, she could have well done without.

The biggest difference, by her measure, was the constant thrum of  _ something _ . There weren’t words to describe it. It was like the feeling that would lance along her jaw when she bit into a particularly sour fruit, but constant. Alistair explained that it was how the Wardens were able to sense darkspawn nearby, and it was the presence of their army so close that made it so relentless.

The battle had started in earnest not long after. Duncan hadn’t offered much by way of an inspiring speech before sending the young Wardens off to their task. He didn’t seem the sort to, regardless. Areth felt something close to respect for the Warden Commander starting to blossom, loathe as she was to admit it. She hoped, quietly, that he was faring well in the battle.

They were nearing the top of the tower, now. The silence this high up was unnerving. Even with her exceptional hearing, there was scarcely anything  _ to  _ hear but the keening whistle of the wind outside the tower and the irregular tread of their boots as they picked around the shredded corpses. An enormous door, cracked slightly ajar, stood in wait at the top of the stairs. Alistair studied it, jaw tight. Areth gestured for everyone to stay put, treading softly forward.

She pressed her cheek to the weathered wood, she couldn’t see anything inside. But this close, she could hear. It was difficult; the door was quite thick, but she could make out the shuffle of small feet and the harried squeal of genlocks. Then, so low she almost believed she was imagining it, a booming growl like nothing she’d ever heard, followed by heavy, lumbering footsteps. Cursing, she fell back to the others. 

“Something big.” she said, fastening the straps of her armor firmly in place. “Really big.”

“I never want to be right again in my life.” Alistair whispered, fussing with his shield. “It’s just one, though?”

  
  
“Some genlocks, probably. Not many.”

He nodded, his eyes downcast and flitting back and forth frantically. 

“We’re here to light the beacon.” Areth said, glancing toward the mage. “Do you think you can manage from a distance?”

He nodded, knuckles white on his staff. She looked toward Alistair and the soldier.

“We’re just going to have to…” she shrugged, shaking her head. “Kill it? I don’t have much more than that.”

“A sound enough strategy.” the soldier said, resolute. Alistair chuckled darkly.

“Hasn’t failed us yet, has it?”

Areth exhaled sharply. 

  
  
“Alright, then. Let’s go.”

Lining up, they pushed heavily against the door. Slowly, painstakingly, it creaked open. Arrows thudded dully into it from the other side. Areth winced. They’d just have to do without the element of surprise. What could  _ possibly  _ be the point of making a door so heavy?

With one final heave, the door was open. Then, chaos erupted.

She thought she counted six genlocks. More than she thought, but they would have been dealt with easily enough, if they hadn’t been standing twenty paces behind the largest creature Areth had ever seen, with their bows drawn and trained on them. She barely had time to register the scale of the ogre before she was yanked roughly by her collar.

“You can’t just let them  _ shoot  _ you!” Alistair said, bringing his shield up to cover them just in time for a hail of arrows to pepper uselessly against it. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ are we supposed to do about  _ that  _ thing?!” she snarled, glancing at the ogre moving toward them. It was picking up speed, steadily, lowering its head to level a truly staggering set of horns at them. Alistair shoved her to the side roughly, diving out of the creature’s path as it hurtled past.

“Kill it! You literally  _ just  _ said that!” he shouted, whirling to raise his shield as the massive beast wheeled around, faster than should have been possible.

Areth hazarded a glance toward the firing line of genlocks. Their companions seemed to be keeping them occupied well enough. She and Alistair would just have to keep the ogre tied up until they were done.  _ Fantastic _ .

“It’s fucking huge!” she yelped, narrowly dodging a swipe from the beast’s yellowed, cracked claws. Alistair banged his weapons together, successfully drawing its focus long enough for her to slash at its forearm. Its skin was thick, closer to hide than flesh. She had barely drawn blood.

“ _ I _ know that! I  _ told  _ you it would be!” Alistair cried, sidestepping and hammering his shield into the side of the ogre’s head as it took another headlong charge toward him. The creature barely seemed to notice.

It was becoming glaringly obvious that Areth wouldn’t be able to do much damage fighting the way she usually did, darting in and out of range, slashing at the most accessible squishy bits. This thing didn’t even seem to  _ have  _ squishy bits. Not that she could reach on the ground, at least. The head, though. That might be their best chance. There was no hope of Alistair being able to reach that far. The man was no slouch, to his credit, but he was bogged down by heavy plate and the weight of his weapons.

“I’m gonna climb it!” Areth shouted, stepping out of the way of a shrieking genlock engulfed in flame. 

“ _ Climb _ it? Are you mad?” Alistair responded, aghast. 

“You want to keep doing  _ this  _ until it gets tired?” she hissed, dodging a sloppy kick. 

“Fine! Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast!” he conceded, the pommel of his blade clattering against his shield again. At least the thing was stupid enough for that trick to work twice.

Areth took a deep breath. It shuddered in her chest. This was stupid. It was very, very stupid. Hopefully it would also be effective. She’d hate to end up a lump of meat and gristle like those poor sods littering the staircase.

She slunk back a few paces, then peeled around the back of the creature, on its heels as Alistair continued to bait it in a wide, tense circle. She once heard that the Antivans did this with bulls, for fun. She used to think that was the most reckless, idiotic pastime she’d ever heard of. Now, it seemed relatively tame. 

The ogre crouched low, bracing itself for another charge. She had her opening. 

Ignoring the lancing pain in her leg, she took a running start and leapt onto the beast’s back, daggers at the ready. For a harrowing moment, it seemed like her blades might bounce harmlessly off the thing’s thick hide. But after a heartbeat of resistance, they sunk in, brackish blood pooling around the steel. With an ear splitting bellow, the ogre reeled back, feebly reaching around to attempt to wrest her from its back. 

It takes more strength than she thought she possessed, but Areth managed to wrench one of her blades free from its flesh and swing it up in an arc to drive it deep into the creature’s shoulder, an improvised climbing spike. Distantly, she hears Alistair pounding away on his shield, shouting all manner of insults at the ogre to split its attention. It whirled, nearly flinging her across the room, but in spite of the screaming protestations of her arms, she held her grip. 

A cry of exultation echoed from across the hall. She hoped that meant the beacon had been lit. She’d nearly forgotten. That would have been embarrassing.

Grunting, she heaved her other dagger into the monster’s neck, satisfied by the abrupt, pained gurgle loosed from its throat. She reached up, looping an arm around the base of one horn, almost as large as her entire body. She pulled her blade free from the ogre’s neck, black blood rushing forth from the wound like a faucet, and tried to gauge the most vulnerable spot on its head. Ears were always a safe bet.

The creature titled and bucked and shook mightily, knocking her blade off course every time she attempted to strike. Snarling, she decided executively, fuck it, and started stabbing blindly, driving the point of her blade into the ogre’s face over and over again. It didn’t seem to be doing much, until she felt the tip of her dagger catch on something solid, before it slid inward and sunk, down to the hilt. She’d gotten its eye. She twisted the blade and withdrew, driving it home until she thought her wrist would give out from the force and the odd angle. The beast loosed a terrible, bone-rattling roar as she all but shredded its eye within the socket.

It felt like a lifetime, clinging desperately to the ogre’s horn, every muscle in her body aflame with the effort of holding on as she gored and twisted the beast’s face. Eventually, though, it dropped to its knees, the sudden impact nearly jarring her loose from her perch. It wasn’t dead, though, and at some point, some feral, base survival instinct had rooted firm inside her chest. She would not stop until this blighted, awful,  _ wrong  _ creature was indisputably dead. Everything in her needed to make sure this thing would no longer exist, as immediately as possible.

In hindsight, it probably would have been better to have simply let the thing bleed out.

It seemed to happen all at once. Her blade continued to dig deep, vicious burrows into the ogre’s skull. Alistair’s face shifted from victorious, exhausted relief to contorted with dawning horror. That was all the warning she would get, as giant claws finally struck their mark, hooking under her chin and wrenching upward, taking her with. She was flung, easily, thoughtlessly in an arc from the ogre’s back, shaken off like no more than a flea. 

Something far away told her she was in pain. More pain than she’d ever felt in her short, pretty awful life. She registered the sound of something wet slapping against bone. She wondered what it was. 

Mercifully, her skull met the ground before she could contemplate it further. 

A cold, unfathomable expanse of black nothing rose to greet her, enveloping her with the forceful inevitability of the tide consuming sand. She’d done her job. If it was over, then it was over. 

She washed away easily.


End file.
